


Love Is Like Falling (And Falling Is Like This)

by shamrock



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 19:51:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3301469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shamrock/pseuds/shamrock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know Root's in love with you, have done for quite some time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Is Like Falling (And Falling Is Like This)

**Author's Note:**

> Short Shaw-centric 4x11 fic that apparently I needed to get out of my system more than I needed to write that college essay.

It's a hell of a time to realise it.  
  
Your parents were the most in love people you've ever known. Crazy, starry-eyed, hopelessly in love. When you were eleven you asked your mother what it was like, and she told you how being in love made her feel. You nodded along and smiled when you thought you were meant to but nothing she said resonated with you. That night you asked your father the same thing and he, maybe understanding you a little better, told you what being in love made him do.  
  
"Being in love means you think about the other person all the time, even when they're not with you. You work as a team, making all the big decisions together and realising that your actions don't just affect you, they affect your partner too. You want them to be happy - you want to _make_ them happy - and safe. We protect the people that we love. Their happiness matters more than your own."  
  
You nodded, understanding this, and even though you couldn't possibly picture a time when you would be in that position you carried his words with you somewhere deep inside, somewhere untouched by the anger that always seemed to be your default.  
  
You know Root's in love with you, have done for quite some time. You see it in the looks she throws your way - not the smirking, overly-flirtatious leers and sly smiles, but the softer, knowing glances when she thinks you're not looking. So you deflect, and roll your eyes, and make it as clear as you possibly can that you and her are not going to happen. Because you don't love her, can't love her - and if in that quiet, dark space where you still hold your father's words you wish you could, well that's not something anyone needs to know.  
  
(You think she might though.)  
  
Which is why, when you find yourself standing in a freight elevator in the subbasement of the New York Stock Exchange, her terrified gaze pleading with you not to do what she knows you're going to, you're absolutely _furious_.  
  
You're furious because instead of thinking about how much ammo you've got left and the best cover angle to take once you've hit the button, you're thinking about her. You're thinking about every time you've blindly followed some ridiculous order just because she said 'trust me' and you do. You're thinking about riding a damn push bike to Jersey in the middle of a blackout because she was in danger. You're thinking about every time you've stood shoulder to shoulder with her firing bullets into bad guys and just how much _fun_ that was. You're thinking about tazers and an iron, 'I do too' and 'people who care for you', every time your name has dropped from her lips somewhere between a dare and a benediction and now - god help you - you're thinking about kissing her.  
  
So you shake your head, roll your eyes at yourself, grab her, and do just that. Because if you're being honest with yourself, when she's not around you're still thinking about her, because you two are the best team you've ever been a part of, because you know what you're about to do is going to affect her more than you want to think about, because you want her to be happy and you want her to be safe.  
  
And you push her away, close the elevator doors and run for the override button because she _won't_ be safe until you do. You're dimly aware of bullets ricocheting beside you, and Root screaming your name. When you're hit, you register the fact with something beyond even your usual detachment, and when you hit the floor there's a moment where you have to resist the urge to turn your eyes to the ever-narrowing gap through which Root is desperately calling to you, just to let her know that you've figured it out. But Samaritan's bitch has her gun trained at your head and you won't give her the satisfaction of looking away. You suspect Root knew long before you did anyway.  
  
Just before she pulls the trigger you find your mouth quirking into some semblance of a rueful smile, or the nearest you can come to it with your body failing you.  
  
Because really, it's a hell of a time to realise that just because you don't feel it doesn't mean you aren't in love.


End file.
